


Short and Sweet

by vetiverite



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Dirty Talk, Fili Works for Krampus, Flirting, Imp Versus Wight, Kili Works for Kris Kringle, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Suggestive Themes, Unrelated Fíli and Kíli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28060062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: One works for Kringle. The other works for Krampus.   They're made for each other, but only one of them knows it... and it's HIS turn to bake the cookies.
Relationships: Fíli & Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13
Collections: GatheringFiKi - 12 Days Of Christmas 2020





	Short and Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for FiKi 12 Days 2020 Challenge based on the following photoset:
> 
> Please note that not all italics are dialogue, but all dialogue is in italics.

As soon as Fíli sees what’s coming up the road, he begins to plate up the cookies.

 _Demon!_ a shout echoes across the snowfield. _Get out here!_

 _Temptation time,_ Fíli whispers to himself.

His cloven hooves clatter across the flagstones as he hurries to the foyer. He fluffs his hair (preposterously blond for one of Krampus’ minions), peeks to make certain the cookies are stacked just so, and flings open the cabin door.

Kringle’s henchmen don’t usually look as grim as Kíli does now. The cause of his ire, however, is obvious. It clops behind him at the end of a lasso, flexing its broad ebony-feathered wings.

 _YOU!_ roars the angry wight.

 _Hello, neighbor,_ Fíli purrs in return.

_Don’t hello neighbor me. This… BEAST of yours got loose again! I caught her running with our herd!_

_Oh, Hulda,_ Fíli coos directly to the steed. _Do I not feed you enough?_

Stepping delicately on the ice, he picks his way down to the gate, making certain to include some hip-swaying action for Kili’s benefit. He hopes that the wight takes notice of the fact that he’s just freshly polished his horns. They’re quite comely, if he does say so himself. Small, though; not nearly as impressive as the great ram-spirals sported by Krampus’ older minions. Well, someday…

His adversary’s cheeks are ruddy, whether from pique or frost, it’s hard to tell. Those dark eyes glint with vexation, just the way Fíli likes them. So dark, so glowering…

Kíli would make the _perfect_ imp. He sticks out amidst Kringle’s happy helpers as much as fair, cheerful Fíli does amidst Krampus’ sinister, shadowy hosts. Both bosses have actually wondered aloud whether or not these two sprites were switched at birth. Fíli’s cloven hooves pretty much settle that argument, though truth be told, he’s bitten his lip more than once over a fantasy of Kíli having them as well…

As if he knew and meant to taunt Fíli, Kíli impatiently stamps one fur-booted foot on the hard-packed snow. He looks for all the world like an indignant young bull, and he bellows like one, too. _Heed me, demon! I bring the words of Kringle himself. He does not want to see this creature on his property again. This is the twelfth time in two months, and I assure you that thirteen is not a lucky number even for demons._

 _Speak you of luck, pixie?_ Fíli performs a nose-wrinkle of purest mischief. _You’re lucky Hulda has no taste for what reindeer eat. Or for that matter, reindeer meat._

You’re _lucky I brought her back. The workshop’s running low on glue._

Lashes lowered, Fili sing-songs, _I-give-you-my-solemn-word-I’ll-latch-the-gate-more-tightly—_

Wings, _Fíli. She has_ wings. _I don’t think latching a gate she can fly over is going to solve the problem._ Kíli huffs out a cloud of white vapor. _Tell your boss to build a proper stable._

Sweet as sugarcane: _You might tell YOUR boss the same._

 _Reindeer are nomadic. They’re_ supposed _to roam._

_Oh, I know all about their roaming. If you recall from last week? The whole of my front yard?_

This shuts Kíli up.

 _Hell’s bells,_ thinks Fíli, _he’s luscious when he’s angry._

It doesn’t help that Fíli has a terrible fetish for elfwear. Kringle’s workshop issues its staff a limited-edition sweater every Yule, and this year’s design – bright red pine boughs criss-crossed on heather-grey shot through with silvery threads – is a winner. Kíli’s mittens are new, too; stitched out of the softest rabbit fur. Fíli files away that detail to tease him about later. Kringle’s crew are always so holier-than-thou, but they’re not exactly _vegans_ , are they?

Holding the cookie plate aloft, he yawns and executes a stretch– rather a lascivious one for so early in the morn. 

_What have you got there?_ Kíli growls, unable to ignore either treat.

_Oh, this? It’s your plate. I was planning to return it later today. It seemed impolite to bring it back empty, so I took the liberty of filling it up—_

Kíli tosses his head dismissively. _As if your kind ever worried about being impolite._ _What are they?_

_Red velvet sandwich cookies. New recipe._

_I liked your pfeffernüsse last time. Spicy._

_I liked your shortbread the time before._ _Bland._

Imp and wight engage in a staring contest until their focus is broken by a plaintive whinny.

 _All right, Hulda, you may go,_ sighs Fíli. _Leave us to our bickering._ He thrusts the cookie-laden plate at Kíli. _For you and only you,_ he warns. _No sharing._

The recipient’s cheeks redden even more. _You know that’s not how we operate._

_Come on. Be selfish, just this once, for me._

Little does he know how selfish Kíli really is when it comes to him. Hoarding butter and eggs… sneaking into the workshop kitchen at night to bake cookies not one of his colleagues gets to taste…

 _Ready for the Wild Hunt, demon?_ Kíli hopes his customary gruffness conceals the feelings stirred up by this plate of… oh, sweet Saint Walpurgis, the bloody cookies are _heart-shaped..._

_Oh, yes,_ says Fíli, chuffed at the violent effect his treats are having. _Fresh chains and birch switches for all. Just yesterday we knotted off on the final gunny-sack. Show me the brat who can wriggle through_ our _seams!_

 _We’ve got a few more cr_ _èches to decorate,_ Kíli dutifully reports. _The candle-crowns for Saint Lucia’s Day turned out especially pretty—_

 _You know, there isn’t really a Saint Lucia,_ Fíli begins one of his habitual taunts. _Never was. Lussi’s one of ours, an Ancient One. She runs her own Wild Hunt up north. The whole point of the candles is to ward her off._

_Must you ruin everything sacred?_

_Your lot are no stranger to the practice._ Fíli leans seductively against the gate, lightly scuffing the tip of one hoof against the frozen rime. _One of these years, I’d like to take you with me on the Hunt. I’d come and knock at the workshop door as proper as you please. You’d ride with me on Hulda—if she’ll have you. I know_ I _would._ A pause _. Have you._

Kíli appears to have swallowed his tongue, a cue for Fíli to use his own tongue to lick his own pretty lips.

 _You’d ride behind me, naturally,_ he muses. _Nice and snug up against me, your arms around my waist. You’d have to hold on tight, you know. It’d be_ hours _before I’d let you dismount._

The cookie plate clutched in Kíli’s mittened hands begins to quiver slightly.

 _We’d go everywhere. Sometimes traveling fast and hard… sometimes nice and slow._ Fíli lovingly runs his gaze over his trembling victim. _I’d show you all the best spots. I’d have to ask you not to tell anyone, however. Not just_ anybody _gets invited to my special, secret, hidden places._

 _I’d never tell,_ Kíli whispers. 

Oh, how desperately Fíli wishes he could actually lure this virtuous morsel over to their side! Or at least to his own cabin. _That_ would be quite an initiation into the mysteries…

 _We’d explore them until the wee hours. Ah, Kíli, what a ride we’d have!_ he tells the wide-eyed wight. _You’d have to take the next day off to recuperate. Take it from me, after a long night in the saddle, it can actually be hard to close your legs..._

Kíli blanches white as the snow all around him. _I have to go._

_Oh, do you? I was just about to invite you in—_

_I have to go._

Kíli backs away from the gate. The move has the unintended effect of allowing a full and unobstructed view of the territory south of his waist, where some rather scandalous things are taking place…

 _But when am I to get MY plate back?_ Fili demands. At first he thinks he’ll get no answer, but then, his quarry clears his throat _._

 _I’ve— I mean WE’VE— gotten in fresh almonds,_ Kíli mumbles. _I suppose I could make marzipan._

 _My favorite,_ Fíli beams. _You’ll be by tomorrow, then?_

 _I don’t know, demon. Maybe. I’m not going to promise anything._ Kíli whirls and begins to walk as quickly as his adorable pointy boots will allow.

As he recedes into the distance, Hulda sidles back out to the gate and stands beside her rider. 

_Again tonight?_ she nickers. _I’ll pass on the marching orders to the reindeer while I’m visiting._

 _That would be splendid,_ Fíli replies vaguely. 

He’s already wondering what Kíli’s opinion is on cinnamon red-hots in place of cookie sprinkles.


End file.
